


Wildfire

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eol obsesses over Aredhel and that isn't very healthy for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildfire

I am called Eol, The Dark Elf. I find it cynical that the same people who used to approach me for my wisdom have christened me with this name. Doriath and Thingol had ever held my allegiance. I grew up under Elu Thingol’s rule, I learnt the arts of smithy, forge and swordsmanship under him. Little wonder that I looked up to him as my King and Lord.

 

Then they came, the cursed exiles from the lands beyond the seas. Thingol was taken in by their radiance and charm. Fool, he was! I warned him, I warned them all, the stench of elven blood hung over the outsiders. For the first time in my life, my wisdom was not heeded.

 

I watched in growing dismay as the outsiders charmed their way into our happy, satisfied society, bringing with them false hopes of defeating Angband and renewing these lands. My naïve people believed their luring words. I could no longer stand it, I could no longer bear to watch the exiles tear apart the long-held peace of Doriath. I knew with certainty that destruction would be the end of this.

 

I left the land that I had ever called home. Aggrieved that my people had spurned me as easily as a snake sheds its skin, I settled in the wild woods of Nan Elmoth. And I earned the grim sobriquet, The Dark Elf.

 

Before I left, I saw the lady of Doriath. She smiled sadly at me, her wise eyes held grim despair as she spoke, “Little love have you now for the scions of the Noldor. I pray for your sake that it shall ever be thus. Never shall we meet again, but our ends shall be wrought by the curse upon those children exiled.”

 

Never has her words made sense to me, or to anyone else for that matter. But I wished her well, and left the lands.

 

I held the resentment that had made me leave my land deep within me and buried it in my work. Here, in these woods, I could at last give free rein to my crafts. I held trade with the Naugrim, who are masters of their craft and learned much from them. The woods were wild, yes, but they were home to me. Peace and satisfaction like this, I have little experienced before.

 

 

I had been hunting in the woods that day. The sudden neighing of a frightened horse startled me from my snare-making. Rarely anyone from Doriath rode through these woods anymore, preferring to keep within the bounds of their Queen’s girdle. And wise they were to do so, for these woods were not for the unwary.

 

Curious, I warily made my way to the place where the sound had come from. My sword and bow at the ready, I cautiously peered through the trees into the clearing.

 

There was a horse tethered to a tree bole, a magnificent white stallion that I had never seen the likes of in Doriath. I had heard stories of the steeds that the exiles had brought over from their lands. This stallion seemed to be one of their kindred, its head tossing about restlessly as it hooved the ground in impatient pride.

 

“A moment, my friend”, a clear, rich voice that stung me to the core said amusedly.

 

 

The tongue of the exiles! This was then a Noldo.

 

I tore my eyes away from the horse onto the speaker. There was a stream flowing through the woods at the point. Submerged to the waist in the water, was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her dark mane clung to her torso as she bathed, contrasting richly with her pale, unblemished, radiant body. Her eyes, they captured me. Lustrous, deep eyes that held fiery defiance and pride. As I stared more at her perfectly carved Noldorin features, I found an unexplainable desire rise in me. I wanted her.

 

The horse whinnied again, perhaps sensing my presence. She tossed her wet mane one last time and emerged out of the water, her sensual figure casually relaxed as she walked to her stallion and patted it soothingly.

 

“I must be ready to impress him, my dear friend”, she spoke in her liltingly sensual native tongue, “It has been long indeed.”

 

I nocked an arrow into my bow and aimed silently. She continued to pet her restless charger, talking fluently in her tongue as she wrung the water out of her hair.

 

My arrow flew through the trees and met my target. She screamed as the horse raised its forelegs in panic, her arms flew around the wounded animal as it writhed in pain. I watched with detached fascination and rising jubilation as the animal sank down, its proud head tossing about in the throes of the final agony. Absently, I wondered how its meat would taste. I was already regretful that I had used a poisoned arrow. But still, I could take no chances. I wanted her.

 

She continued screaming in anguish, calling upon all the Gods she had defied to come in exile to these hinterlands. As the animal collapsed finally, she sank down on her knees and pressed a kiss to the creature’s mane, tears streaming down her striking face.

 

Then it struck her. She rose to her feet panicked like a cornered bird and began turning about looking for the attacker. Eyes wide with fear, she ran for the stream side where her clothes and sword lay. Noldor, males and females, ever the same, they were always ready for a skirmish.

 

I watched her delectable body in increasing desire as she bent over to pick up her sword in one graceful movement. Certainly she felt that her safety was more important than her lack of clothing. I was already growing impressed by her cool headedness. A pity that I meant to chop off her wings and have her in a cage of my own making.

 

“Who is there?” she asked defiantly, the Sindar tongue coming as easy as the Quenya.

 

“A most ardent admirer”, I stepped forward, an arrow aimed at her.

 

Her eyes narrowed as she took in my appearance. Her lips curled in superiority as she said coolly, “Welcome we might not be in your realm, Avari. But these lands are not your Lord’s and freedom I have to wander through them. Why did you slay my friend?”

 

“Alone you are, and helplessly at my mercy”, I sneered as I drew nearer. Her head rose in defiance as she watched my movements.

 

“I doubt that an Avari of these hinterlands has courage enough for slaying an elf”, she remarked caustically, “Go back home and pray to your Gods, let me go to my own ends.”

 

I laughed at her courage and carefully moved till I was but inches from her, I was struck by her unflinching stance as she regarded me with proud insolence.

 

“Why would I seek to slay you?” I asked quietly.

 

I cupped her head in one forceful grip and brought her lips to mine, the sword fell from her stunned hands as I toppled her to the forest ground and straddled her. As my tongue explored her mouth, I felt her defiance as her teeth came down hard on my questing tongue, sparing me nothing. I wrestled down her clawing hands and bore down upon her body as she tried to fight me off.

 

An hour later, I lay atop her satisfied and yet unsatisfied. Her harsh breathing was the only sound in the silent forest.

 

“Cursed shall you ever be for touching that was never yours”, she said grimly, “And cursed shall you ever be for touching that was cursed.”

 

“What mean you?” I asked her bewildered, “Foolish were you to ride in these woods alone and unescorted. Worse things than me lurk in these lands.”

 

She looked deep into my eyes, her gaze harsh and penetrating, as if she could find my measure and essence in that single look. Perhaps she could. None of her defiance and pride had lessened as a cold smile curled her lips.

 

“I fear nothing, Avari”, she declared insolently, “Neither Valar, nor anything of their make. Do what you will, but never shall you claim my soul.”

 

I felt a deep revulsion at myself rise as I regarded the bruises and marks I had left upon her pristine body. I had marred a sculpture of utmost perfection. Repentance and self-hatred like this, I had never felt before in my life. I averted my eyes and rose slowly, wondering when I had ceased to be ruled by my brain and caved into desire.

 

I have hunted only to keep my hunger satisfied. I have killed only to save myself. Never had I ever given into base desire and caused another such pain.

 

“I will lead you out of these woods, to the Girdle of Melian, if you wish. Those of Doriath have little sympathy to outsiders, but they will help you”, I said quietly.

 

She laughed, bitterness coloring her rich tones, “And this is penance, Avari, for what you have done here?”

 

“What would you have me do?” I asked bleakly, “I have no words that will ease what has happened. Take me bound to your lands and serve me justice, if you will.”

 

She rose to a crosslegged position and drew her robe about herself, saying quietly, “Justice, I no longer think that I deserve to mete justice to those who trespass, Avari. Much stains me.”

 

“I am no Avari”, I said rebelliously, feeling low and put down by her insolent tones, “I was once of Doriath, and came hither since the exiles have poisoned my King’s mind.”

 

“Ah”, she smiled humourlessly, “And an exile has poisoned your body now, what will you do to change that?”

 

“Let me guide you out of this land”, I said in a shaky voice, desire was again rising in me, like an uncaged beast, I feared that I might again condemn myself should I cave in once more to her great beauty, “Tell me where you wish to go.”

 

“Home”, she laughed, “And I no longer can. Avari, take me to your home, or cave or wherever you dwell in…I need to heal.”

 

I did not want her to come with me. Valar help me, I no longer trusted myself with this woman. Nobody has ever made me feel thus.

 

Then why did my lips say, “As My Lady commands”?

 

 

I led her to my home, to the small cottage I had made in the woods, secured by my useful skills. No creature would ever enter my abode, for I had taken all the precautions I knew of. She ran her eyes critically over the little, rustic cottage, her lips quirking again. Certainly she had been comparing it to the mansions of her people and found it much lacking. I felt a jolt of unbridled jealousy and anger rush through my veins.

 

“BY ERU!” she exclaimed as she saw the wisps of smoke from the chimney of my forge. I had been working at the smithy for the better part of the last week and the smoke had yet to die down.

 

“What is it?” I asked her concernedly.

 

“You have a forge”, she whispered as she strode into the house, not waiting for me.

I frowned, why would a lady be interested in a forge? Particularly, one as superior and beautiful as her.

 

“I see that you use Naugrim’s metal”, she was murmuring as she bent to inspect the furnace,

“And the implements are really marvellous for one as cut off from the rest of elvendom as you. Did you make them? Yes, I can see your Sindarin runes wrought into them. A tad thicker than the Noldorin implements, I see. But as efficient”, she continued her inspection of the many implements.

 

“Be careful with the bellows and the anvil”, I hurried to her side, “You might get hurt. They are heavy.”

 

“They are”, she nodded, “You can reduce the thickness by using a more tempered variety of the metal, that is what my uncle did.”

 

“Your uncle is a metal-worker?” I asked curiously, wondering at her ease about the forge.

 

“Yes, he is”, she nodded absently as she stooped over to examine a nail, “The best, of course”, a dark expression fell on her striking features as she said rather unsteadily, “He was the best always.”

 

“He is dead? Or is he is in your old lands?” I asked lamely, for I could think of nothing else than to hold her to me, to soothe her grief, but she was untouchable, she was too pristine to be sullied.

 

“He lead us here”, she shrugged, her eyes sparkling with determined defiance again, “And fell in the first assault, before we reached the lands.”

 

“Feanor?” I yelped in fear and surprise.

 

“Of course, yes”, she met my startled gaze in rising amusement, “I am his niece, and I was travelling to his son’s lands when you so rudely interrupted me.”

 

I remained silent, staring at her. The powerful charisma she exuded should have warned me that this was a scion of Finwe. The famed fire of Feanor shone in her eyes too. What had I done?

 

“Well”, she moved out of the forge, as if this was a happening in her daily life, “I would be grateful if you led me to my cousin’s lands. I miss him.”

 

Jealousy spurred its ugly head in me again as her eyes softened at the mention of this cousin. I asked in a strangled voice, “You miss him?”

 

She turned to face me, a rising awareness colouring her gaze as she said, “Yes, I do, for he is my bonded-mate.”

 

“I cannot let you go”, I said in a voice far unlike my own, jealous, possessive and harsh.

 

 

So I trapped her in my cage. She was proud, and defiant. She was fire untamed and untamable.

 

Even during our couplings, she would be silent and cold, her blazing eyes burning me with shame and desire. I hated myself, I hated her, and I hated the cursed life that I had condemned us to.

 

She could not escape, for the woods were fraught with peril. Once, I heard the defiant bugle of the Noldorin horns as a party rode through the woods. At the head was the fey eldest son of Feanor, I wondered why he was riding through these lands since they were far from his own realm.

 

But she heard the bugle and leapt to her feet, fear and hope colouring her features as she whispered, “They come for me.”

 

I did not give her even the smallest chance of escape. My dreams and day were filled with her, I was consumed by my desire for her.

 

She pitied me; she tried to explain the curse on her family. But I was too far gone in my madness. Sometimes, she would whisper his name in her dreams, a blissful smile on her striking features. I would watch her sleep in awe, thinking of the sculpture I had shattered…and I would be consumed again by my self-hatred.

 

Then she carried my child. If I had assumed that she would hurt the babe since she hated me, I was mistaken. I helped her all through the difficult labour, and for once she did fix that cold look on me.

 

I think that the only time we smiled together was when we saw the wonder we had created, Maeglin, we named him. There was much in him of her.

 

I tried to teach him the crafts of the forge and the smithy. In this, she was my willing abetter, for she held the same intense interest as me in the working of metal. We watched our son grow, a creature of the wild woods and the smoky forge. He knew of our dark past. But he could never ask us outright, since she was too unpredictable in her moods and I was too dark-tempered.

 

 

 

Often, I would make jewelry for her, though I always felt that nothing anyone wrought would ever hold a candle to her beauty.

 

I had gifted her a sparkling pendant when her eyes lit up and she said unexpectedly, “Your skill has been growing in the decades, Avari. This might be rated well by my uncle if he had seen it. Your craft, though, is more influenced by the Naugrim style”, she held it to the light critically, “Those of my people are heavy on the intricacies of design.”

 

“Does he work at the forge?” I asked her curiously, for I was ever eager to hear of her cousin, whom she would rarely speak of.

 

“He did”, she said shortly.

 

“Before you came here, you mean”, I ended her sentence quietly.

 

She did not reply as she returned to her inspection of the pendant.

 

 

If I said that I have ever seen as beautiful as her in my whole, long existence, I would be a blasphemer. She is all that her race is. She embodies defiance, beauty, pride and courage.

 

 

As our son grew, she became obsessively protective of him, they would take long walks for hours speaking in low voices in the tongue of the exiles. Little did I think that she plotted escape. I should have known that she never gives up.

 

 

They escaped while I had been away to trade with the Naugrim. I returned to find a parchment fluttering beneath the anvil of my forge.

 

“You have never had me, Avari. I shall never hate you, but I shall never think of you with the slightest regard. I have broken free of your gilded cage, and never shall you look upon me again if I have my say.”

 

I was made with rage and loss. I rode to the lands of her cousin, determined to see her one last time and die. For my life was bound to her, in all its self-hatred and desire. How I hated the fateful day I had first seen her.

 

I saw him. He was handsome, with more than a passing resemblance to her carved beauty.

 

“So it is you”, he cursed as he rode towards me, his warriors flagging him, his sword held ready to strike, “Little mercy shall I have upon you for what you have wrought upon us!”

 

“I wish to see her”, I begged him, “Once more before I die.”

 

“So do I”, he cursed, “I would see her once again before I die! Go now”, his face fell into dark pity, “While pity stays my hand, leave and escape your death. Search no more for her. Return to your lands and think no more of her.”

 

“I cannot”, I said fiercely, “I must find her!”

 

“If you would persist, then death waits for you at the end”, he said sadly before riding away.

 

 

I persisted in my search, till I reached the borders of her brother’s walled mountain city. The guards took me to Turgon the Wise. I sank to my knees as I saw her, standing beside him, in her true position as the scion of her royal line.

 

“What claim do you have on The White Lady of The Noldor?” Turgon asked me angrily, “Have you not wrought enough grief upon her? She shall abide here with her son until our cousin reaches here!”

 

I did not hear his words, as I stared upon her pristine form clad in pure black robes. The White Lady of The Noldor. How true. As she had said in her parting letter, she had never been mine, it had been just my desires and my heart. She had never had anything other than mere pity.

 

“Shall I have him slain?” Turgon whispered to his sister, his features contorted with rage, “I would dearly love to.”

 

“No, brother”, she said serenely, “Let him leave in peace.”

 

It broke me as little else has ever done. Her detached tone, I had never meant anything to her at all. Taking the sword that we had forged together, I flung it at her, the guards seized me. But it was too late, before Turgon could step in front of her to shield her, the sword flew true and straight striking her bosom.

 

She cried softly, her face contorting with pain, her features were fixed on me as she sank down into her brother’s arms.

 

“If I shall never see you again, then so shall he!” I screamed in rage, sorrow and hatred as I was dragged away, “Your beauty has killed me, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel!”

 

 

I was mad when Turgon came to me, his features grim and furious. He said that he would not sully his sword with an Avari’s blood. But I was taken to a gorge.

 

I cursed my son, “The same end shall you meet, for you resemble her too much!”

 

Turgon held my son close as I was pushed into the gorge.

 

 

Thus came my life to an end. Perhaps it was my cursed fate to die so. But I know that I would never have had it any other way.

 

 

But she had never been mine, she had never been his, she had always been free. His love could not tame her, my threats could not tame her. She had ever been free. The beauty of fire, the beauty of metal, the beauty of crystal, all that she had and more. Aredhel Ar-Feiniel.


End file.
